


Such a pity, a boy so pretty

by Linkuu



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Lapdance, M/M, Oneshot, Post S2, Steve trying to move on from Nancy, Stripper!Billy, inspired by a friend, no sex but steve is pretty turned on, not really supposed to be an au but there's nothing clarifying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linkuu/pseuds/Linkuu
Summary: So Nancy didn’t love him, and she didn’t have to. She was happier now, both of them were moving on in their own right.Nancy, dating Jonathan.Steve, at a male strip club.Right.





	Such a pity, a boy so pretty

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly apologize lmao,,   
> I don't like posting my writing but my datemate wanted me to so I did it. Enjoy, sinners.

Steve Harrington sat in an armchair, legs crossed one of the other, and chin resting in his hand. The lighting was dim, music played in the background, and just in his field of vision strippers were doing their jobs. Stripping. 

He didn't know why he was here, if it would make things feel any better. It was just a little sickening for his only friends to be his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend, and all they did was pity him. Treated him like he was gonna break at any second, that he'd cry or something if they held hands.  
He felt like it, but he hated it the worst being infantilized like he couldn’t grow up and deal with a broken heart.  
So Nancy didn’t love him, and she didn’t have to. She was happier now, both of them were moving on in their own right. 

Nancy, dating Jonathan.  
Steve, at a male strip club.

Right. 

There was one in particular, built and could knock Steve out in one hit, dressed in tight spandex and taking all the attention from any other guy up there.   
He ran his hand over his face and sighed, eyes down on his crotch like he might’ve gotten hard just by watching someone dance. Was he that lonely?   
He was starting to understand why everyone treated him like he was pathetic. See: he's acting pathetic. 

Steve got out of his armchair to head to the bar, try and repress the fact that he came here so far down he couldn't remember it tomorrow morning. His eyes kept darting back over to the stripper, that long blonde hair seemed to fall perfectly no matter what he did. 

Eyes hardly ever off the stripper, he sat down in the barstool and leaned over the counter, head craned to watch the show. 

The bartender's voice grumbling “What'll it be, kid?” was the only thing that seemed to rouse him from his thoughts, and he looked over.

“Alabama slammer.” 

The bartender thought that was a pussy choice, Steve could read it on his face, but he frankly didn't give much of a shit. Beer tasted awful, alone was the only time he could express that. Otherwise it was the only option for drinking else he have to face actually getting called out on being a pussy who likes pussy drinks. 

The show was coming to an end, his shiny spandex shorts were filled to the brim with dollars, and Steve got his drink as soon as he walked offstage.

He sighed and leaned over the cup, glad only because he was met with the taste of alcohol that wasn't a disgusting beer.   
It was good, sweet. Could taste the orange juice.   
He downed a couple more drinks after that one, well on his way to blacking this night out. 

Ten minutes later, on his fourth drink, someone sat down in the barstool next to him. A glance over and he could've sworn his heart came to a full on stop. 

Half naked glitter boy, gorgeous blue eyes Steve could see now, still in that same spandex outfit.  
God, he was pretty. 

He ordered a beer and suddenly Steve felt insecure about his Alabama slammers. 

It was only after a violent “What the fuck are you looking at?” That Steve realized he'd been gawking like hell. 

“I- uh.. you, you’re just..” Consider any of his previous charm a myth. 

“Just what?” 

Guy sounded like he was gonna beat the fuck out of Steve then and there. 

“Pretty.”  
Steve braced to get punched in the nose.

The strippers anger seemed to quell as he sipped his beer, set it back down and wiped his mouth.  
“Looking is free but dangerous, touching is money, so don't look unless you intend to touch.” 

Steve nodded like he understood, but he couldn't stop looking. He thought maybe a part of him really wanted to get pummeled by this guy. It wouldn't have been the worst experience yet.

Guy turned in his barstool and leaned a little closer in than Steve expected, almost nose and nose with him. Was it intimidating or hot? 

“Your choice of bill can go down my pants, lapdance is twenty, and I'll screw your brains out for a fifty.” 

It was hot, it was so hot. 

After a moment of Steve not answering the guy grabbed a fistful of his shirt, “Do you understand?” 

Steve looked at the fist, then the guys face, to the fist and back again. He nodded. 

“Good.” 

Steve was shoved back when he let go of his shirt and found himself at a stuttering loss for words. He could go for a lapdance, actually. Prostitution might leave him with a bad conscience, though. New heights of pathetic. 

The guy was getting up to leave, about to take his beer and go, Steve couldn't believe himself when he heard his own “wait!” before he even made a conscience effort to speak. 

He turned back with his brow quirked and suddenly Steve felt very nauseous. 

“Yes?” The stripper asked, setting his beer back down. 

“You said you did lap dances?” He asked with a terrible lump in his throat, watching the stripper smirk.

“Not on barstools. Follow me.” He turned with the assumption that Steve would follow and didn't look back to make sure.   
Steve wriggled out of his seat and quickly caught up, back over to the armchairs he had sat and contemplated life in less than an hour ago. 

“Sit.” Steve hesitated and the stripper pushed against his chest to sit him down, he held out his hand once Steve was settled into the chair.

Oh. Money. 

He lifted up his ass and rifled his back pocket for his wallet, holding out a $20 as soon as he could. The stripper stepped forward so he could put it in his shorts. 

Steve wanted this, really liked the opportunity to touch him. As degrading as it was to know he had to pay for it, he was obviously taking what he could get.   
His hand cautiously snaked the strippers thigh and he slipped the bill into his shorts. God, he was attractive. 

Steve was all but gone from this world after that, the stripper had planted his knees on either side of his thighs and held him at the shoulders. It wasn't really a grind yet, just a gentle tease of one.

He couldn't decide if he wanted to watch every second of this or if he needed to close his eyes and take it in. He somehow couldn't bring himself to stop watching, so it got decided for him. 

So much for not getting hard in the club. 

He was careful in any touch he made, eventually figuring out the stripper wouldn't kill him if he touched his hips, so he kept his hands there and guided the grinds, welcoming the labored breaths he made against his ear. Steve knew it was acting, and he was good at it because that was his job, but god he was turned on. 

“What's your name?” He had already said it before he realized he shouldn't have. Steve Harrington was just a ball of charm tonight, wasn't he? 

The stripper laughed against his neck and shook his head.  
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” 

“I've just been mentally referring to you as ‘the hot stripper guy’ so I..” Steve laughed under his breath, it was more stupid out loud.

The stripper pulled off his neck and used the chair arms as a means to balance himself, “I'm whoever you want me to be.” 

Steve ran his hand down his abs, his eyes going from there to the stripper's eyes.  
“I want you to be yourself.”

“You want to fuck me.” He explained, so easily grinding himself against Steve while he was hard.  
“I'm pretty, you think you're in love. You're not. You don't need my fuckin’ name.” 

Steve opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. 

The stripper leaned back up to his ear, “time's up.” he whispered lowly and nipped Steve’s ear as he pulled back.

He was up and gone without another word, watching him walk away might have been the most bittersweet moment of Steve’s life.

Going out alone didn't turn out so terrible after all.


End file.
